Forståelse
by Eilwen
Summary: Episodes from Anna's, Elsa's and Kristoff's lives as they face the joys and pains of growing up, the confusions in adulthood and as they come to understand how to love and be loved. Main pairing is Kristanna but each chapter is a character study. Chapter 3: Elsa has retreated into her room again...
1. sulphur

Characters in this chapter: Kristoff, Bulda and Sven. (Other characters will be introduced in the next)

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**1. Sulphur**

This valley has seen years of magic. It is here where the cursed, the blessed and the unusual come to find refuge. These stones have seen powers unimaginable. They have provided advice and have healed the wounded. The grass in this valley seems to grow just a little taller. The moss, just a little thicker. The sky glows just a little brighter.

In the centre of the valley is a circular space, surrounded by towering stacks of lifeless rocks and hidden paths that lead into and out of the valley. One path is freckled with steam vents that constantly cough up bursts of warmth with a faint extra scent of rotten eggs. It is through here that a young boy frequently takes whenever he visits the valley. Any other traveller would get eternally lost without the right map, but this boy has the wilderness and its secrets held to memory. At the edge of the path is the forest; dark, secretive and dangerous, but the boy knows it well. He weaves betweens the trees on a sled pulled by a reindeer. When he reaches the path, he hides the sled in the bushes, for the sled cannot handle the terrain, and walks towards the valley, the reindeer walking beside him.

The unfortunate side effect of his frequent visits however, is that the sulphuric smell from the pathway clings to his clothes and skin. The smell is barely noticeable to a first time traveller but this, along with his natural body odour, dirt and reindeer, has defined his pungent scent. The valley, in contrast, smells of fresh rain and pinecones, whether due to the natural mists that hide the sulphuric smells or through some supernatural means, no one can tell. To a passer by, if there ever is one, the valley is completely empty. Stones covered in moss, are spread throughout the area. They seem a little too smooth and too round to be real but a passer by would not give it a second thought. The boy knows better. As he approaches the centre, the rocks hum awake. They spring to life and roll towards him, nearly crashing into him, and unravel revealing...

Trolls.

With pinched noses.

"Kristoff's home!"

The boy, Kristoff, watches them with a confused expression.

A female troll immediately grabs his arm. His clothes are off and washed, leaving the young naked boy stuck in a hot spring trying to hide his modesty in the waters.

"Bulda, I can wash myself," he protests.

"Oh, can you?"

The trolls are his family and they have been for the past four years. While they have generations of magic within their rough stony skin and have witnessed humans with dangerous or beautiful powers, they have taken this young ordinary blond boy (and his reindeer) and made him one of their own. They know he washes well, but still he comes home always smelling a little worse than last time. Today is the day they decide that enough is enough.

Bulda's hands are gentle but still overly exfoliating and very quickly Kristoff's skin is rubbed raw. With the water's heat, his embarrassment and his skin scrubbed to thin-before-bleeding, he is as red as a summer cherry topped with a swirl of blond hair. The poor boy is at least thankful that no one but his family around him.

The other trolls roll about, quickly sewing any torn seams and wringing the clothes dry. Kristoff's reindeer friend, Sven, sits at the edge of the spring, enjoying the warmth without the wet. Reindeer don't need to be washed as often as growing men do, according to Bulda, so Sven is simply given a quick massaging brush with some bristly grass to bring out the coat's shine. Kristoff eyes Sven with as much fire as a glare could give.

"It's just whenever I visit you guys, the vents make me stink up or something. It's not my fault the path smells like leftover breakfast."

"If you don't wash yourself, how do you expect a girl to like you?" Bulda tips a bucket of water over his head.

"I'm telling you, I _do_ wash myself! I'm not a little kid anymore!" Kristoff sputters as his hair falls over his eyes. "And I don't want a girl to like me."

At this fragile state in life, Kristoff is shooting up like a beanstalk discovering light but his future broadness and thickness is only just beginning to show. His chin and upper lip are revealing some awkward signs of adulthood. His nose is growing, his chin is extending and his round cheeks, to Bulda's disappointment, are losing their childish chubbiness.

As Kristoff sits limply in the warm water, Bulda lifts his arm and scrubs madly at the new sprouts of hair in his armpits. Even in the acknowledgement that Kristoff is not growing gracefully, the troll's mother pride swells within her chest when she realizes that she needs a few extra trolls to stand on to reach over his head. Even better news: his strength is increasing; he is already able to lift one of the newborn trolls at least an inch off the ground.

She guesses that his visits are becoming more frequent now due to his growing anti-social attitude towards fellow Man and that his transition from boy to teen is giving him much more trouble than he will ever admit. She promises to herself that she will always provide an extra ear when needed, though Kristoff rarely asks. She usually throws her advice at him anyway.

Bulda's hands drop heavily onto Kristoff's head and scrub away. His blond locks disappear beneath bubbles and his back immediately slouches from the weight of his mother's arms.

She pauses. "Have you not seen any girls around in town? Are you not interested in girls?"

Her voice hints at something.

"Bulda..."

"I'll be okay with whatever you like, dear! Including reindeer." Her hands massage his scalp with just a little more force.

"What? No! Sven's my best friend!" Even Sven perks up his ears, his face mirroring Kristoff's disgusted expression.

"So you've _seen_ any girls around town?"

"We're changing the topic."

In truth, Kristoff _had_ noticed a pretty brunette patting Sven's nose earlier this week. The story is not worth mentioning to Bulda, but its brief spark in Kristoff's interest in another human is still noteworthy.

From what he remembers of their short meeting, she was simply dressed but was clearly someone from a higher class. Kristoff is not one to pay any attention to rank – as long as a customer can pay for ice, it is good enough for him and to be frank, he has never considered that his own status as an Ice Harvester could be detrimental. He is _aware_ of the differences between tailors and dukes, but none of this is any of his concern.

On that day, as she picked a few autumn flowers and tickled Sven's chin, Kristoff's eyes could not help but slip towards her direction during a bargaining session with her father. By the end of it, he definitely got less money than he should have for that mass of ice.

After loading the sold ice from his sled into the father's icehouse, he carefully approached her, well aware of his inexperience with people in general, hoping for some opening.

He caught her eye for an instant and gave a small friendly wave.

She raised an eyebrow, immediately judging him and she backed away slowly, moving to disappear behind the cart.

This is not the first time anyone has avoided him. While he is still unsure of how the opposite sex functioned or even how he should communicate to them, at the time, he was pretty certain that the immediate unspoken criticism and brush-off was insulting regardless of whatever gender she was.

Kristoff has a history of rejection throughout his life, whether from adults who do not think a kid Ice Harvester was worth paying any attention to or from children who once thought Kristoff was a liar because of his troll stories.

_"It's true!"_ The then-nine year old claimed with a fast voice. _"Sven and I visit them all the time. I mean, they're kind of like my family, I think. Bulda is the one who took me in. She's this big lady and she's like a rock and everyone looks like rocks except they sort of wake up when they talk to you and they're really heavy. Look this bruise here is from one of them rolling into me. But I'll take you to see them, if you come with Sven and me next time. They're really nice."_

_"... Kristoff, you're weird."_

_"Trolls don't exist."_

_"Don't they live under bridges and eat goats?"_

In future years, until he meets a certain princess, he will grow more and more recluse, not due to a lack of confidence around others but simply because humans will matter less and less to him. His contact with humans is usually business and nothing more, although one could say that some of his mannerisms were borrowed from other Ice Harvesters subconsciously. The other Ice Harvesters he accompanies are acquaintances only when they are out on the frozen lakes, but when they retreat to pub houses at the end of the day, to share stories and reminisce about their wives, Kristoff wanders outside, to meet with Sven, fiddle with a lute or stare at the night sky. Still, an observant mother notices the influences, such as the way he sits – not tall like a gentleman with a proper posture but with certain heaviness, as if sitting is a declaration of his presence, like how other Ice Harvesters sit.

Another wave of water washes over Kristoff's present pre-teen self and wakes him from his little memory visit. Bulda continues to lecture, this time, her voice dropping to soft and serious tones. "If you do find someone, all they would want from you is for you to care. Everything else falls second place."

"What about my smell?"

"That's for all of us, dear." She hops from her troll-ladder to inspect the clothes, now hanging on a makeshift clothesline. "You're outgrowing your clothes so quickly, Kristoff. When you came home, your pants were above your ankles."

Behind Kristoff, the ladder unrolls revealing several Teen Girl Trolls. They all move to the edge of the spring to gawk at him.

"Ohhh baby-Kristoff's growing up." One giggles.

He suddenly feels an urge to drown himself and end his life right there and then. Instead, with his remaining dignity, he reaches for a mossy towel and pulls himself out of the springs.

"And he's getting taller too!" They tease and laugh. "His feet still have that funny shape though. You think he'll outgrow it?"

"You guys know I'm right here, right?"

He shuffles over to the clothesline and brings a sleeve up to his nose. The smell of sulphur is gone replaced by a forest scent, though there is still faint odour of _him._ He always washes his clothes thoroughly when he is on his own, but somehow the trolls always manage to do something a little extra to make the smell genuinely pleasant and not simply passable. Only in a few weeks, his sweat will overpower everything once again. A new patch is at his elbow, sewed on by another troll, but his pants are hopeless and still too short.

As he dresses, Bulda holds out his hat, smoothing it out in her hands. "I want you to purchase some new clothes for winter."

"Yes, Bulda."

"Something thick and warm."

"Yes, Bulda."

"Don't come back sneezing and shivering like last time!"

"Yes, Bulda."

She places the hat on his head and pats his cheek. "Come home again soon, dear."

"Ok, ma." She embraces him tightly around his waist. He hugs her back without any hesitation, appreciating that even with all her inappropriate pushiness or unnecessary criticisms, she cares for him, as do the other trolls.

Sven nudges Kristoff's elbow. Fully clothed, the young teenager stands, just a little taller than at his last visit. Kristoff pats his friend's nose and climbs onto his back. With approaching winter, business will definitely dip a little (though harvesting will be at all time high), but he hopes that he could at least be able to treat Sven and himself to a rented warm stable.

He waves a goodbye and the trolls wave back.

The trolls' home gradually disappears behind him. As Sven walks in the direction of his concealed sled a voice calls back to Kristoff: "Come home next time with a girl..! Or a boy...! Or a reindeer!"

Kristoff's heavy groan echoes.

The trolls in this strange valley find fungi to be fashionable and a sign of adulthood. They decorate their bodies with glowing stones. Little secrets trapped in bottles hang as necklaces. They find beauty in healthy moss and lichen. To Bulda, Kristoff might be an ordinary kind of boy with unmanly blond hair, plain brown eyes and the inability to grow mushrooms on his back, but when he hugs her and the other trolls and gives a smile as wide as the stretch of aurora borealis in the sky, she can't help but feel her own heart ignite and think that he is truly extraordinary.

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Spoiler alert: He doesn't come home with a girl next time (until years later).


	2. rococo

Characters in this chapter: Kristoff and Anna.

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**2. Rococo **

There is only one word to describe her kisses: electrifying. When she kisses him, he can feel his skin ignite. Everything around him suddenly crumbles. The mountains break apart. The fjords flood with massive waves crashing upon him. He does nothing to stop it and instead flows freely along with it. His body burns with touching and his mind brims with thinking – every sensation is caused by the excitement that is her.

When they break apart for the first time, Anna looks back up at Kristoff with bright eyes. He realises he is reflecting her expression – both adoration and trepidation. She smiles softly. Her eyes dart to the side and she pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear as if wordlessly asking, '_What next?'_ He probably looks more nervous than she does. He certainly feels overwhelmed.

Kristoff breaks the silence, "Thank you for the sled. And the new title."

"You're welcome," she says very simply. Her smile grows wider and she bites her bottom lip. "But don't thank me, really. You should thank Elsa."

Her kisses are just one of the ways she constantly surprises him. She will nip at his bottom lip one time then steal an unexpected peck at another. He feels like he needs to keep up, but he enjoys every instant of unexpected electricity in his fingers.

As weeks pass and the short summer warmth raises to a comfortable temperature, their kisses morph. Sometimes they briefly touch lips only for an instant. Other times, they melt into each other, desperately holding on and hesitant to let go. Their kisses are sometimes sensual but never suggestive. He enjoys chaste kisses just as much because for some reason, Anna has a tendency to laugh against his mouth and he cannot help but laugh as well. She never explains it, but he guesses it's due to the strange high of their starting relationship. It is when the kiss deepens, does she sigh and fall apart. She is never forceful. He is always patient. He is smitten with her, plain and simple.

They are both inexperienced yet willing to learn from each other. Anna's extremely brief history with the Prince of the Southern Isles does not count – Kristoff does not know if she and Hans had kissed before the Queen had frozen Arendelle (but he assumes 'no', more for his comfort than with actual proof). These moments they share are thus a series of lessons for each of them. He learns the curve of her waist when he holds her and the freckles on her shoulders. He learns she likes chocolates and everything chocolate covered or filled. He learns that while she can't scale mountains or steep cliffs, she strangely manages climbing onto the roofs of the castle with ease.

He learns she loves art.

They are in one of the many rooms in the castle when he discovers this. The walls are covered with paintings, all vibrant and done in masterly strokes. Framed art pieces surround the room, as if attempting to cover as much of the wallpaper as possible. Some of the portraits rest right closer to the bottom, above the wainscoting, while others reach high up, skirting the windows close to the ceiling. Benches line the sides, but their diminutive presence in such a large room make them seem useless, beyond even decorative.

Romantic landscapes display unknown outside worlds. Rococo relishes in frivolity with musical instruments and rosy cheeks. Renaissance is heavier in shades of olive greens and reds. A survey of European Art is held here, all for this new couple's enjoyment.

Anna is on the floor, her arms and legs spread out as if in the midst of making a snow angel. Kristoff lies beside her, eyes shifting curiously amongst the artworks.

If Kristoff can be entirely honest, he considers the paintings beautiful but uninteresting. He has grown so used to abstract beauty in other objects, such as ice, that representation bores him. He has no education in fine art. His only exposure comes in the form of small cheap sculptures and decorated items frequenting the shelves of Arendelle's shops. While Arendelle is a growing kingdom, the arts are still only appreciated by a few. A painting was just a picture to him and nothing more. He knows nothing of any painters, sculptors or philosophers.

Apart from his old sled, objects are never bought for their beauty, only for function and efficiency. In this room with items whose sole purpose is simply to be _looked_ at, Kristoff feels more confused than anything else. He is well aware that Anna finds something special here however, and so he stays with her, enjoying the time spent being close to her.

"What do you call this room?" he asks.

"I don't actually know – I just call it the portrait room."

They lie together in silence, Anna breathing in the joys of being with childhood friends again, Kristoff staring more at the ceiling and the iron chandelier right above them than at the actual pieces.

"So, what'd you think?"

_Is she expecting him to give his opinion on art?_

He freezes. "Of the room?"

"Yeah, which one's your favourite?"

"Uhh... well they're all nice." He ponders for more descriptive words before giving a defeated sigh. "Ok, I give up. I don't actually know anything about this stuff. They're all great but they're... pictures. This is a room for putting pictures on walls."

"It's more than that," Anna responds without any judgment in her voice as she lightly taps his arm. She throws her hands up like a conductor ready at a concerto. "Just imagine yourself in them."

His eyebrows wrinkle in unsure concentration. "Uh-huh."

"Papa taught me about movements and artists. What belonged when and who painted what. But then I'd just ignore it all and daydream that I was there in the paintings." She waves her hand in the air to brush the metaphorical lessons away. "He also told me I should never touch them, but that didn't work out either. He used to get angry when he'd see my fingerprints."

This is the first time Anna has ever mentioned her parents to Kristoff – no tone of grief, no sign of tears, just pure nostalgia as if they were in the same building in some other room. He turns his head slightly to look at her, but her eyes are lost in the piece in front of her: an overly romantic painting of a couple draped on a picnic blanket. "The best way to enjoy art is to experience art."

"Did you come up with that?" Kristoff asks incredulously with a raised eyebrow.

"No, papa actually taught me that." She gives a guilty cough. "I guess I took it literally. Sometimes, when no one was looking I'd start talking to the pictures."

He gives a short laugh at this as he imagines a young redhead chatting with two-dimensional men and women.

She points to a painting of dancers, a woman trapped in mid-twirl, with stark lighting highlighting her face and her skirt and a man clapping beside her. Despite the stillness of the physical canvas, there is an unexpected vibrancy within the image. One could almost hear the audience's laughter behind the pair and hear the woman's shoes tapping loudly against the floor.

"That's my favourite. It's from a country in the south. I'd like to go there one day, dancing just like that and all these people cheering. I heard it gets really hot there in the afternoon, so hot they have to take naps after lunch." She hums in bliss as if stifling heat is somehow a good thing, something that Kristoff does _not_ agree with. "That guy always dances with her, every night until the sun comes up."

She turns to point in a different direction to a painting of a woman suspended in midair on a swing. "Oh! No wait, that one's my favourite." Behind the painted figure, a man dressed in clothes almost as frilly and ridiculous as hers, pushes her. The woman's pink slipper is flung from her delicate foot and is eternally floating to the side. "I know it sounds kind of crazy but I always wanted to be her too."

"She should probably wear different shoes next time. She looks like you when we were by the lake last week."

"That was _not_ my fault! Who knew there would be bears?!" Anna pouts at this reminder. She raises herself up and looks around as if searching for something. "Joan isn't here."

"Joan?"

"Joan was my best friend, besides Elsa, of course. She used to be right there." Anna points to a painting of an earthly landscape. "She'd tell me all her war stories, right before she was burned at the stake. Before my parents left, she was taken to be cleaned and restored. I don't know what happened to her after that."

Kristoff feels a sudden deep pang in his chest. Though they both had lonely childhoods, his was by choice whereas Anna's was by circumstance. Even so, Kristoff had Sven and the trolls whenever he needed them, but the more Anna had searched for company, the more they seemed to vanish. He is now even more grateful for Elsa's return and the sisters' renewed friendship. As he lies back onto the polished wooden floor, his eyes drifts from one painting to the next, dreaming of Anna's conversations.

A little redheaded ghost runs about the room, making mock-kissy noises at the romantic paintings and chatting endlessly with the regal portraits. She makes a running jump and dives into the landscapes, climbing onto the rocks and looking over the mountains to the undiscovered universe before her. He imagines the fingerprints pressed into the canvas, her oils chemically altering the colours oh-so-very-lightly, too light for the normal human eye, but enough for her father to recognise it and scold the poor girl. The lack of human contact, both figuratively and literally, drives her to keep touching anyway.

The little ghost falls asleep beside Joan, however Joan might look like in Kristoff's mind, while the saint watches over her, protecting her from demons with a raised sword. As she grows older, her tastes change. She suddenly develops an unexpected yearning in any of the paintings of lovers. Though they are permanently stuck in a fixed position in a gilded frame, in that fantasy world they are free. The girl on the swing is forever on holiday. The dancers are always having fun. Even the sly smiles from the more formal portraits hint of a happier life.

He must have drifted too far because Anna's face is suddenly inches away from his with a smart smirk. "See, it's more than that." _This room is more than looking at pictures on the wall._

He returns her smile and she moves to kiss him. The electricity buzzes within him. She laughs again against him and mumbles something about tickles. He tastes chocolate. _The little devil is sneaking out sweets again._

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Notes: I'm assuming the painting of the 'dancers from the southern country' is based on John Singer Sargent's_ El Jaleo_ (1882). For simplicity's sake, I didn't go into detail the painting's American origins. Also, from what I remember, Joan is missing from its original position when Anna sings _First Time In Forever_ so I'm hoping for the best that Joan is simply forgotten at the cleaners than lost in some tragedy.

P.S. Don't touch finished paintings with your bare fingers.


	3. camping

Characters in this chapter: Anna, Elsa and Olaf.

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**3. Camping**

Spring is cool in Arendelle. Mothers dress their daughters with thin cloaks and their sons with light jackets. Flower buds scattered about are peeking out and gradually unfurling. As summer gradually approaches, the day stretches on for just a few more minutes, then a few more hours. However, as the citizens go about their daily routines welcoming the upcoming warmer season, there is an unusual chill that still pervades within the large castle that sits at the edge of the kingdom.

Gossip spreads about last autumn. At the time, a member of the castle's staff had whispered that the inside was getting colder again, much earlier than expected. It was only for a few days and only by a few degrees, but it is still enough to be noticeable. The locals are beginning to wonder if the fallen temperature means a repeat of what occurred that autumn or worse yet, a repeat of the Freezing of Arendelle during the summer. When they manage to glimpse at the Queen through the windows, she seems calm - not as frightened as she had been when she had run away, but her expression lacks… something. Her smile is limited only to the mechanics of her mouth, nothing more.

The princess does not complain. She never addresses it to anyone, though one person might have overheard a private conversation with the Official Ice Master and Deliverer (_"I just don't know what to do sometimes." "Anna, maybe she needs some time for herself."_), but gossip is gossip and can never be trusted. Princess Anna never asks for favours from the staff, but when no one is looking, she will take an extra blanket from the closet. She will wear outdoor clothing inside without giving a reason. She will watch Queen Elsa with extra concentration at supper, but never will say why.

Instead, she and everyone else living in the castle will wait for this week to end. The castle's temperature will soon rise to normalcy. The Queen will smile as she always does before and will wave back to those who cheer for her. She will request extra chocolate with her dessert and will laugh at jokes. She will aim to please and entertain her denizens. Until then, everyone waits.

Anna knows that with Elsa as Sovereign, a woman with responsibilities, council meetings to attend to and public appearances to make, she cannot afford to hide in her room as she did before. Elsa cannot lock herself in. She has to keep on moving, even if the feeling to run away is as overwhelming as ever. So, as she walks between halls from breakfast to preside over meetings in the Cabinet of Arendelle, there is a frost that follows her, whitening the halls and cooling the indoor air. A new mantra is on her lips, _"Love will thaw, love will thaw,"_ but sometimes it is as if love is not enough. It keeps her going forward anyway.

After a long day, Elsa will return to the dining hall for supper, though she might only eat a few bites, then disappear into her bedroom until the next day. Anna is cautious. The first occurrence had shocked her. Since their return, the sisters had spent as much time as they could trying to catch up on lost years and relearning each other… until that autumn day came, and Elsa retreated to her room. The temperature in the castle had dropped to below freezing. Anna was so lost at what to do that she sat at Elsa's door as she used to as a child until her body was stiff and sore. Kristoff had to come and retrieve her. Eventually, Anna learned that these episodes come and go and the only thing she can really do is simply love, support and wait on her sister.

Anna is in the library this time with a blanket draped around her shoulders and the fireplace alit and crackling. Olaf is opposite her, entertaining her over a game of chess. She plays rather well; many years of loneliness will provide a bizarre number of talents. However, Olaf is a surprisingly fast learner and she finds it embarrassing when his skills are now exceeding hers. His hands caress his upper lip in deep thought. She can almost see him melt from the intense concentration. She on the other hand, has her chin in her hands, her eyes slowly closing... sleep creeping up on her very gradually. The game's strategy has been gone from her mind and so any move she makes is thoughtless and sudden.

"Hmm, interesting, interesting." Olaf says, focusing entirely on Anna's knight, completely unaware of the bored girl in front of him. His arm extends to move a bishop. "Check."

Her eyes drop to the board. With Olaf in control of over half the board and with two bishops, a rook and a queen gone, compared to his dead bishop and rook, Anna is left with a pathetic-looking army. "Ok, Olaf, you win." She knocks down her king.

"But you're only in check, Anna. Don't give up! Let me show you. You move your rook like so -."

Olaf stretches to take her tower-shaped piece, but Anna immediately stops him, resting her hand over his.

"Let's choose a different game."

"Oh ok! What do you have in mind?" He jumps a little on his chair.

Anna looks about the library. The warm fireplace is welcoming, casting the room in an earthly glow. Her fingers touch the blanket around her. Perhaps leaving the castle to visit Kristoff might be a good idea. Outside is definitely warmer than inside. She looks at the grandfather clock: fourteen past eleven. She knows he will be awake. Maybe she can surprise him?

_No, I won't._

Whenever Elsa faces one of her bad weeks, Anna refuses to leave the castle, believing that if Elsa ever needed anything, Anna would be able to help. So far, Elsa has never asked Anna for anything.

_I will not leave._

"Hello? Anna? What game do you want to play?" A stick-hand waves in front of her face.

"It's getting late, maybe we should go to bed."

"I don't have organs that need resting."

The cogs in Anna's brain begin to move. "Well, maybe you can help me. What do you think I can do to cheer Elsa up?"

He takes the question seriously and strokes his upper lip again. "Hmm... When I'm sad, I like to imagine I'm on a beach, soaking up the sun with my friends."

Anna smiles at his sincerity, though the advice is entirely useless. "I don't think I can drag Elsa to the beach."

"Is there a way to bring the beach to her?"

She opens her mouth to respond before a thought suddenly sparks awake in her brain. "Olaf, that's a great idea!"

He gasps, suddenly just as thrilled as she is. "Ohh! This is so exciting! We can bring the water from the fjord and – umm, where will we get sand...?"

Anna tugs at Olaf's arm to pull him out of the room along with her, only to disconnect it from his body. "Sorry, sorry. Just... follow me into the kitchen."

He waddles out after her.

The hallways in the castle seem much more different now than it did when Anna was a child. Before they seemed enormous, separating everyone from each other by stretching for miles and miles. The castle seemed haunted in the constant darkness despite having residents. There were never any echoes, so as one speaks aloud to no one, he or she would never receive a mimicked response. Now with the windows open, one could once again see the rosemåling details in the walls that were easily missed before. The rooms feel much bigger. Even the paintings in the portrait room seem a little livelier.

A snowman follows a princess down the hall as she awkwardly carries thick blankets and several pillows in her hands. The snowman holds two mugs of steaming hot liquid. It sloshes about and spills onto the rugs. The princess stops at a familiar white door, decorated with carefully painted vine-like motifs and diamonds.

She frees one of her hands and lightly knocks.

There is no response.

She could use Olaf's nose to pick at the lock... _No_, she would never invade her sister's privacy like that.

She frowns. What did she expect? Was Elsa just supposed to open the door and let her in as if nothing had happened?

Experimentally, she touches the door handle. It surprisingly turns with ease. Her heart begins to race, beating madly in her chest.

She pushes the door open, knocking again.

"Elsa?"

A streak of light lands on the large bed in the centre of the room. In the large bed, a young woman sleeps. Her white hair is still kept in a neat braid and her face maintains a calm expression in sleep. Around the room, remnants of ice damage are present. Some of the furniture, though painted with a mature white and blue, has cracks in them, from years of freezing, unfreezing and ice shards cutting into the wood. The others are new – obviously there to replace old damaged ones. Ice surrounds the windows and snowflakes are constantly gradually falling, creating a thin layer on every surface, from the rugs and parquet floor to the chairs and the bed. Several objects are on the floor, completely encased in ice. Anna could not tell what they were or why they were on the floor either, but the spikes formed on some them hint of a secretive emotional release.

She spends a little more time observing the details and remembering which pieces were there from when they were children. A doll in the corner, untouched. Some toys packed neatly in the corner, telling a different tale of Arendelle's queen. She pushes the blankets inside the room as quietly as she can and moves to take the mugs from the snowman.

"Thanks, Olaf. I think might need some alone time with my sister again."

He waits outside by the closed door just in case.

Anna stops beside the bed.

What if Elsa wakes so suddenly that she strikes Anna again? Anna does not even question this. She believes in her sister so strongly, it is almost blinding and foolish.

"Elsa?"

The sleeping queen does not stir. Anna frowns and lightly shakes her sister's arm.

"Psst Elsa." Anna starts poking lightly.

Blue eyes blink open in sleepy confusion. "Anna? Is something wrong?" Her voice, crackly and thick with slumber, betrays slight concern. Years of wariness and fear have taken its toll leaving her always on guard.

"No."

Déjà-vu stirs in Elsa as she turns to face away from Anna. "Then go back to sleep."

Anna chews on her lip. "We should have a sleepover. Like when we were kids."

Elsa turns back to look up at Anna, and if it wasn't the lost dark look in Elsa's eyes, she might have looked like she was all right, again. "What time is it?"

Anna mentally calculates how long she and Olaf were preparing everything. "Twelve...-ish? I brought some hot chocolate." She holds up the two mugs – both already too cold for consumption. The beating in her chest has died to a dull ache. "I um... I did not mean to wake you. I know you have another busy day with the ministers tomorrow. You know what, this was a bad idea."

Her blankets and her pillows on the floor are probably soaking on the floor, but before she can grab them, run out and hide in her bedroom until the sun comes up with Olaf questioning what went wrong and Kristoff trying to cheer her up and the staff being polite in not prying and just letting her do everything for herself, Elsa gently puts reaches her arm out and takes Anna's hand.

"Sure."

Anna smiles and runs to shake the blankets and pillows out of the snow. As she spreads the duvet and pulls the sheets above her head, she mumbles to herself, trying to remember the exact instructions for building the proper fort. Elsa walks over, her arm across her waist in habitual hesitation.

"Here." She conjures several stalagmites from the floor to hold the sheets up. "That's how we used to do it when we were kids."

The fort is a cloth cave, formed with both Anna's bedsheets and Elsa's own bedspread and magic. The sisters are cosy within this cave: Anna surrounded by her mass of pillows and thick warm blankets and Elsa, beside her, elegantly resting her head on a single pillow and a thin sheet covering her body. A surge of childhood memories crashes to both of them, leaving them in heavy silence. The blankets may be large, and the fort may be big enough to hold them both but Anna cannot help but feel a little ridiculous and infantile.

She tries to explain herself. "This was Olaf's idea. He said something about bringing the beach here and I thought: 'Well, that's kind of like camping. Maybe I could bring camping to her.' Sort of."

Elsa giggles, her hand covering her mouth as she always does, and for an instant, Anna could almost hear _something_ behind the hollowness. Anna continues to talk to maintain some momentum and to break through the quiet.

"So... how's being queen?"

"It's manageable. Sometimes tiring." Her voice is exhausted and with a false enthusiasm.

"... I see." Apart from the falling snowflakes there is no other movement in the room. The silence between them is so prominent, it's almost curiously deafening. It is a strange reminder of their youth: together beneath the same roof (this time, very, very literally) but completely apart as strangers.

Anna is desperate to ensure that they will never repeat that, yet she is so uncertain how to treat Elsa sometimes when Elsa suffers deeply like this. The worst part is, Anna does not know why, nor will she ever completely know. "Elsa, I understand... these weeks happen, and you can't help it, but I don't want you to think that you need to go through it alone. I don't think I can ever fully know how you feel, but I'm here for you."

Elsa speaks to the cloth ceiling above her. "I know. Thank you, Anna. I'm sorry if I haven't been a good sister to you sometimes."

"No! Don't think that! You're the only sister I would want."

Elsa gives the smallest smile in the darkness. "You too."

From their low position on the floor, Anna can see the snow float onto their fort in perfect softness. It continues to fall throughout the night.

* * *

Depression can appear in various degrees and in various ways. Always be supportive and kind.

(Next chapter will be Kristanna, to cheer you up – promise!)


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